


what we deserve

by chiarascura



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Valonqar Prophecy, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-08 14:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18896083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: Jaime left Winterfell the same way he entered it: alone and ready to die.an endgame fix-it fic.the major character death tag is for cersei.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this diverges from canon at the end of 8x04, and continues past the end of the series very differently than the show ended.
> 
> tw: some suicidal ideation, cersei makes a couple of transphobic comments.

Jaime left Winterfell the same way he entered it: alone and ready to die. 

The wind bit at his cheeks and howled in his ears. Jaime pulled his cloak tighter around his body, and the middle of the night may not have been the brightest idea. He had thought it would be easier, somehow. 

His horse cantered forward, and he moved with it. There was nothing to see except snow covered trees, snow covered ground, no animals, no flora, just darkness and snow. He bloody hated snow. He concentrated on his breathing, tried the tactics from his training to keep focused on the task at hand without letting his mind wander or falling asleep. 

On his ride north just weeks ago, nervous anticipation kept him wide awake and alert. He was alone, and had forsaken everything in his life: his sister, his position, his allegiance and loyalty. None of it seemed to matter, since he was going to die anyway. Death was the only expected outcome. 

He should have known better than to trust his expectations. They had never truly matched reality. Life was sweeter and more painful than anything he could imagine.

Brienne. Her face nestled into the crook of his shoulder, slack with peaceful sleep. Her breaths coming fast as she rocked above him. Determination in every crease of her furrowed brow as she fought deliberate and slow. 

The tears in her eyes as she begged him to stay. Her cries rang in his ears, the keening of her heart and the devastation he left in his wake. Even when he walked away from her at Harrenhal, leaving her to the whims of the gruesome Brave Companions, she hadn’t cried. Her stoic mask hid her vulnerability, as she had done her whole life. What did it mean that he of all people had finally reduced her to tears?

_You always were the stupidest Lannister._

Jaime rubbed the palm of his hand against his eye, as if the action would scrub away the memory of Brienne’s face. He knew what it meant. She was the best knight in the seven kingdoms, the only one who could say she truly followed the chivalrous code of honor and justice and truth. 

She was the only one who saw him for who he was, and loved him anyway. Cersei had loved him, but it was a selfish love. He was a reflection of her, a twin piece of her soul in another body, and they were both narcissistic enough to return to that over and over again. Even Jaime’s love of Cersei was built on an idea of her that didn’t exist: the woman he wanted her to be rather than who she was. 

Brienne’s love was deeper than that. She saw the core of him and knew him and loved him anyway. She stood up for him in front of the Northern leadership and the dragon queen to say that she believed in him. Who had ever done that for him before? 

Before he had met Brienne, he never engaged in any self-reflection or examination of himself. He was blissfully ignorant and selfish. He could have gone on like that forever. Meeting Brienne had changed him fundamentally. 

Even as he left her, she tried to say he was a good man. It was not true, but she believed it. 

He hoped he could redeem himself. Not in her eyes, because he didn’t deserve that, but in the karmic justice of the world. If there was any. 

He left her begging in the courtyard and he hurt her so thoroughly that he knew they were beyond repair. He had one last thing to finish, and he hoped the sacrifice was worth it. 

A memory warmed him. Laying in bed with Brienne, soft and peaceful. “I love you, Jaime,” she had whispered into his ear. She thought him asleep, draped across her chest, as her fingers carded through his hair. “I love you to the ends of the world.” 

She deserved better. 

His head snapped up and he blinked away the sleep that had almost claimed him. He led his horse off the kingsroad into a cluster of trees, secluded enough to make camp for the evening. 

Cold seeped into his bones. The wind had died down, and the silence returned.

He had dreamed of her before. Maybe he would dream of her again. 

\------

Jaime was caught by Unsullied almost immediately at the outskirts of the capital. Disappointing, but not entirely surprising. He was one man trying to get through enemy lines, one who had trained in brute strength and swordplay rather than stealth. 

Tyrion though… that was a surprise. Maybe it shouldn’t have been. When his brother’s voice floated through the open tent, where he was talking to the soldiers standing guard, Jaime's heart lifted. There was a chance Tyrion was come to take him to his queen so he could be fed to the dragon, but Jaime wagered that was a small chance. 

The tent flaps rustled. “How did they find you?” 

Jaime lifted his gold hand. He could hear Tyrion rolling his eyes. 

“Did you consider taking it off?” The thick sarcasm in his voice comforted him, one constant thing in his messy life. His brother walked around until he stood just inside Jaime’s eyeline. 

He had, now that Tyrion mentioned it. “Cersei once called me the stupidest Lannister.” 

Tyrion let out an exasperated breath. “And you’re going back to her. To die with her.” Tyrion crossed the small tent to stand in front of Jaime. Up close, he looked much the same as he had when last they saw each other at Winterfell. A little more haggard, more worn. Like Jaime himself. 

“You’ve underestimated her before.” Uneasiness roiled in Jaime’s belly. Cersei had taken down a dragon, and he knew his sister wouldn’t hesitate to use every last weapon in her arsenal. 

“She’s going to die. Unless you can convince her to change her course of action.” 

Jaime said nothing. The tent seemed smaller somehow, overfull with camp supplies and a too-hot brazier. 

Tyrion tilted his head and scrutinized him. “Did you not come this far to be with her?”

Jaime bent his head and raised his gold hand to scratch at his face. Tyrion’s eyes on his cheek burned. He did not know how to answer that question. Yes, he came to be with his sister at the end of their lives, but that moment approached rapidly. 

His brother sat heavily on a stool beside him. “You haven’t come to save her, then.”

Jaime exhaled. “Cersei can’t be saved.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Jaime hadn’t said them out loud, yet. They were still theoretical, and there was still time for him to try and reason with her. 

Tyrion chuckled. “That wasn’t what I expected from you, I must admit.”

“Oh?” Jaime still couldn’t meet his brother’s gaze. His eyes fell on the brazier. Was it truly necessary this far south? The tent was already warm enough, and the chill here was nothing compared to the North. 

“I thought you would ride in here to try and save the fair damsel in distress from her inevitable gruesome fate.” 

Once upon a time, he would have. Months ago, he had done. “Yes, well. Things have changed.”

“It seems they have.” Tyrion paused, studying him. Tyrion was always smarter than Jaime, and he wondered what his brother saw. Chained and crippled, he was less than useless here except maybe as a hostage. “Is your Lady-- excuse me. Your knight. How did she react? Is she around here somewhere?”

Jaime’s chains clanked as he shifted. “Brienne is still at Winterfell.”

“She let you come alone? She seemed to have better sense than that,” Tyrion said, disbelief lacing his words.

“She was ready for me to get out of her hair. Seems that I’m far more annoying than I used to be.” The jibe came freely to his lips, self-deprecation his second nature. 

Tyrion’s mismatched eyes pierced into him, and Jaime willed himself to be still.

“Bullshit.” The word was sharp and pointed, right at Jaime’s soft spots. 

He sighed. He had tried. “Fine. You’re right, she didn’t want me to come. She… she asked me to stay. I tried to leave without making a fuss, but she. Fussed.” He had to clench his jaw to keep his emotions in check. _Stay with me._

His brother sighed, and he heard the words left unsaid. “Jaime, I love you, but you’re an idiot.”

The tightness in his chest eased. This was familiar territory. “Didn’t we just establish I’m the stupidest of us? That seemed like a given.”

“No, I don’t mean your capabilities. You’re a fool in love. Can’t be helped.” 

Jaime felt blood rush to his face, his thoughts and emotions off-center again. He wasn’t in love, not anymore. He had loved Cersei, but it was built on an illusion and false expectations. He had… feelings for Brienne, but he wouldn’t call them love. She had said she loved him when she thought him asleep, so it didn’t really count. “No, that’s not it. I didn’t want her to follow. I don’t know what Cersei will do, and I can’t risk her getting hurt.”

Tyrion’s judgmental silence made Jaime shift in his seat again. The ground was hard and cold under his backside. 

He let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jaime, you’re a good person. Better than our sister. You try to make things better and you look out for the small people. You do have compassion when you’re not being manipulated by Cersei. But you are very stupid.” 

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Are you sure about this?” 

Jaime rubbed the heel of his left hand into one eye, then the other. “Yes. No. I don’t…” He rested his hands in his lap and clenched his left hand into a fist. “I can’t let her continue. I can’t let her win. You know our sister. Once she has a hold on something, she won’t give it up. Ever. And now, the children are gone, so what does she have left to live for? Now with the threat of the dragon hanging over the city--” The vision of Aerys sitting on his throne rose up in his mind’s eye, laughing as he roasted the Starks alive. _Burn them all! Burn them all!_

“I have to do something.” The vision changed to Aerys’ empty eyes with a blade in his belly. 

Tyrion nodded, and Jaime came back to himself. “Are you going to try and talk to her?”

“Yes. She might still be reasonable enough to leave and save the child.” The one still in her belly. She must be showing at this point, months after she first told him about her pregnancy. 

“And if she’s not?”

The painful question that Jaime did not want to answer, but knew he must. “I’ve ruined my name once to kill a king. Maybe I’ll get another title.” He shrugged, as if it was a question of choosing chicken or lamb for dinner. 

“They call me Kinslayer. Does that make us a lucky pair?” Tyrion lifted a small key. “I never thought I’d get to repay the favor.”

Jaime protested, but Tyrion persisted. He pulled himself out of the manacles and the neck chain, and stayed seated on the ground, as Tyrion told him about a hidden way in and out of the Red Keep. 

Tyrion stood and looked down at him. His brother’s voice wavered. “If it weren’t for you, I never would have survived my childhood.”

His throat scratched like sandpaper. “You would have.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Jaime knew his father and his sister both blamed Tyrion for his mother’s death and they made his life hell. Tyrion was smart enough to have endured, but it would have been a nightmare. 

Tyrion shook his head. “You were the only one who didn’t treat me like a monster. You were all I had.” The tears in his eyes brought on a swell of emotion, tightening and expanding in his chest. 

Jaime pulled in Tyrion for a hug, and felt his brother weep into his shoulder. It was goodbye, they both knew it. Either Cersei would kill Jaime, or Tyrion would be discovered for his treason and Daenerys would put him to death, or they would all die in dragon fire. Jaime couldn’t see any other options. Death awaited. 

\------

Jaime had never been stuck outside the Red Keep during a siege before. Aerys kept him close, fearful of treason from Tywin. He hadn’t even been present for the Battle of Blackwater Bay, as he was winding his way south as a captive. 

Now, he saw how bad it was. Chaos erupted all around him. He hoped Brienne was safe. 

The Red Keep crumbled. Bits of wall and stonework fell all around him, collapsing under the weight of dragonfire. He managed to find a way in before they closed the gates, and he knew enough to hide his gold hand with a longer sleeve this time. 

Where would Cersei be? Maegor’s Holdfast would be the safest place, but offered no view of the battlefield or advantage. Her chambers in the Red Keep were where she was most comfortable, and he knew she would stay there for as long as possible.

No. Jaime knew where he would find her.

He stalked through the castle, eerily empty of anyone else. The crown’s forces were in the streets or dead outside the walls. Cersei’s advisors and court had fled with the news of the dragon queen’s army. No servants or smallfolk had remained to serve the doomed queen. It made Jaime’s job easier, at least. 

The throne room was equally deserted and crumbling. Many of the braziers had gone out and half of the stained glass lay in colored shards on the ground that crunched under his boots. He felt he could see both past and present simultaneously: the crumbling ceiling and the elegant high vaults, the courtiers who lined up for hours to speak with the monarch and the broken glass or fallen rubble, the glass seven pointed star and its absence in the wrought iron window. 

Jaime’s eyes drifted to the head of the hall and his double-vision cleared. For a moment, King Aerys sat atop the Iron Throne. His long white-blonde hair was singed and ratty, topped by a dragon-headed crown. He was just as Jaime remembered him: dots of red along the bare skin of his arms and neck, manic grin, eyes full of wildfire. He blinked, and the image didn’t disappear. It only changed. 

Cersei sat on the Iron Throne, and she almost would have looked regal. She wore no crown but held herself like a monarch secure in her seat. The image was tarnished with the marks from shallow cuts left by the most unforgiving throne. Her grin promised violence and he could see the whites of her eyes even from here. Jaime’s heart fell.

“Jaime,” she called out, and he heard it in the waver in her voice. Madness. “You’ve come to save me.”

His left hand squeezed into a fist, and he relaxed it. His instinct itched to draw his sword, but he stayed the impulse. This was not how he expected to see his sister. He knew she was spiraling out of control when he was last in King’s Landing, but this was a new low. Without her advisors, without Ser Robert, without any handmaidens or court ladies. 

Only Cersei, atop a throne of blood in a crumbling castle, with her wildfire eyes.

“What’s happened, Cersei?” His voice cracked, barely loud enough to travel across the hall.

“They’ve betrayed me. They’ve all betrayed me and the Targaryen girl is here. Did you see her dragon?” Cersei turned to the broken windows, as if the dragon would be there looking in at her. 

Jaime nodded, once. He kept walking, measured steps and focused breathing, all the way up to the steps before the throne. Once, he would have knelt. “I saw.”

“She’s burning the whole city. It’s her fault. How dare she burn my city? But you’ve come to save me. You can help.” Her words tumbled out, like she had too much inside her and had to speak them all to expunge some chaos inside her.

Jaime said nothing. Cersei didn’t seem to notice. 

“You must go light the wildfire caches under the city. That’s how I burned Baelor’s Sept, and that’s how I’ll keep the dragon queen from ruling. Let her rule over ash.” Her gaze was far from him, the strange light in her eyes distant as her hands ran along the blades of her chair. He watched her many cuts drip onto the floor. 

_What has happened to us,_ he thought. This was not what he expected, not what he had wanted for his whole life. Everything had changed. He knew what had to come next, and he feared it. 

“Cersei,” he said. A plea. 

His sister seemed to realize that he wasn’t jumping to her bidding, and that he was climbing the steps to her. “Jaime, you must go light the fires. We have to keep the dragon queen from winning! It’s ours, it’s ours Jaime! We will rule together, finally together. Burn them all!” 

A shiver ran up Jaime’s spine. In his memory, he heard another voice. _Burn them all! Burn them all!_

Tears filled his eyes. “Cersei, we can’t. You have lost. Please, listen to me.”

Cersei saw him, then. She took in his whole form: gold hand, leather armor and black cloak, no trace of gold nor crimson nor white. Her eyes cleared, and hope bloomed inside him. “Jaime, why are you here? You went North… What are you doing? You have to help me. We have to--”

Jaime spoke through the lump in his throat. “No. You have to surrender. Else they will kill you, and the child. Please, Cersei. It’s over.” He raised one hand to touch her cheek, but she slapped it away. The clarity in her face, her last link to this world, disappeared and rage filled its place. 

“How dare you!” Her screaming voice pierced the silence of the hall. “How could you do this to me! Jaime, we are meant for each other and that means we can’t surrender.” Her eyes focused on him, and narrowed with malice. “You’ve finally come running back to me after sleeping with that sow, have you? The _beauty_ you’ve followed after like a stupid puppy. Did she get tired of your stupidity and your cowardice?”

Jaime couldn’t hold her gaze. He lost that challenge of wills and looked away. The thought of Brienne squeezed at his heart. “This has nothing to do with her.”

Cersei scoffed. “You left my bed to sleep with another kingslayer. We know what she did to Renly. Did she fuck him too before she murdered him? Or did you take her maidenhead and then leave her like a true knight?”

“Cersei, stop.” 

Her laughter bounced off the walls. “This is priceless. Do you think handing over King’s Landing to the Dragon Queen will make her love you? Pathetic. Weak. Once again I am truly the lion in this family, I am Tywin’s heir, and I will rule!” 

She reached out one fist to beat against his chest, and Jaime grabbed it in his left hand. 

“Tell me, brother, did you find a cunt or a cock under the Maid of Tarth’s breeches? Surely that much swordfighting can't produce a child, hm?” She rested one hand on her belly, as if proving she was more of a woman. She was as flat as the day she left Casterly Rock before her wedding. 

“Cersei, you’ve been saying this for months and I see no evidence of a child. You haven't grown an inch since I left. Is there really a child?”

She screamed in his face. “Of course there is!”

Jaime exhaled. A loud boom rang outside. “Cersei. I don’t love you anymore. You’re my family and I want to protect you, but I can’t do that like this. The rest of our family is gone. Our children are dead. You need to surrender.” 

Her demeanor swung wildly once again. “Please, Jaime, please. We are meant for each other. Be with me, protect me, and I’ll rule the Seven Kingdoms with you at my side.” She clutched at his collar. “We came into this world together. You are the other half of me. Please, Jaime.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, yet Jaime could see nothing in her eyes except rage. 

The light in Cersei’s eyes changed back into the madness he had seen earlier, the one he knew deep in his soul. 

“If you won’t help me, then you’ll burn with the rest of them!” Her scream startled him. “Light the fire! Light the fire! The caches!” No one was around to follow her orders, except Jaime. He raised his hands to try and calm her, but she was far past that point.

Jaime shook his head. “Please,” he begged, again. “Don’t do this.”

Cersei reached up and scratched at his face, leaving a long red stripe down his cheek. He gripped her wrists in one of his hands and forced them down, pinning them under his knee. She struggled and twisted in his grip, and Jaime pushed at her shoulders to keep her still. 

“Cersei, I’m so sorry. I can’t let you do this. I don’t have a choice.” He moved his hands up until they circled her neck. Shock finally registered, and her face snarled in a malicious snarl. He held her immobile, then started to squeeze.

“No! It wasn’t supposed to be you! Your hands, the valonqar! No!” She screamed the word over and over until the pressure closed her throat. She scrabbled at his wrists, nails clawing into his flesh and gold. 

“I’m sorry, Cersei.” _The things I do for love,_ he thought. 

He did still love her. She was his sister and the only person who understood him for most of his life. They had been two halves of a whole. Or at least, he had thought they were. 

But, there was more, now. More than just Cersei and Jaime. They had entered the world together, but they stopped being one in the same long ago. 

Ages passed before the fight left her body. Her eyes never left his face, accusatory and hateful and betrayed. Tears streamed down her face, red eyes bulging, and her mouth moved as she gasped for her last breath. Her arms went limp, and her body slumped in his arms. 

He lifted her, cradled her body as the tears fell down his face. Jaime wept into Cersei’s short hair. 

The roar sounded outside the keep’s walls, closer than before, and he knew he had to leave. The dragon queen’s forces would be storming the keep soon enough, and Daenerys would mount Cersei’s head on a pike, if not worse. 

He gently lay her body back on the iron throne, glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the half crumbled ceiling. 

The two braziers nearest the throne were still burning. Jaime used all his might to push first the left one, then the right one onto the base of the iron throne. 

Cersei’s dress caught flame first. With any luck, the fire would engulf and melt down the rest of the throne. No one should sit there ever again. Jaime knew from experience that all it brought was strife and madness. 

Daenerys’ army found him in the throne room staring into the flames. It wasn't enough heat or enough time, and the throne sat unchanged. Cersei’s body was a different story. At least there wasn't much left for the dragon queen to dismember. 

That feeling of living through the past came back to him. He stood over his monarch’s dead body and the ghost of Ned Stark found him. Everything old was new again. The look of disbelief and hatred in Jon Snow’s face hardly stung at all. 

Jaime couldn't help it. He started to laugh. “I'm not on the throne this time, if that's what you're thinking.” 

Jon snows brows drew together in confusion. “What?” 

Jaime shook his head, still laughing with grief-fueled mirth. “Nothing. Has she sacked the city?” 

Snow seemed to finally see what was happening. “Is that Cersei?”

Jaime looked behind him, the charred corpse of his sister surrounded by smoldering coals and looked small on the iron throne. “It was.”


	2. Chapter 2

After the dust settled, Jaime faced a choice.

He scrambled out of King’s Landing as the dragon queen arrived to take her seat, and by some miracle made it out unscathed. He wondered if Tyrion had some hand in it, as his brother was said to be a prisoner. 

He could go back to Casterly Rock. He was the Lion of the Rock now, the eldest Lannister left living. He had never wanted to be Lord there. After following Cersei into the Kingsguard against his father’s wishes, his path to Lord of Casterly Rock was eliminated as an option. Now he was no longer part of that brotherhood, but there were no clear guidelines about abandoning an organization that claimed its participants to their deaths. 

He could return to Winterfell, back to Brienne. She surely wouldn't want him back, and he couldn't blame her. He would never insert himself into a better life for her. Beyond her, nothing waited for him there. Plus it was bloody cold. He struck that from his mental list.

He could cross the Narrow Sea, travel anonymously and explore parts of the world he had never dreamed of. Travel, exploration, curiosity were more of Tyrion’s interests than his own. All Jaime wanted was a home and a warm bed. 

He could, he could,he could… Jaime never did well with too many options.

Life was, once again, unexpected. He thought he would die during the Long Night. He thought he would die at Cersei’s hand, by her side. He thought he would die to Jon Snow’s sword as a betrayer of the realm. He thought the Dragon Queen would feed him to her dragons. Yet here he was, on a stolen horse at a crossroads outside King’s Landing, trying to make a decision.

All he wanted now was peace. 

He ended up in none of those places. The sky above him was grey and dropped tiny snowflakes, landing in his hair and on his cloak. Real snow, not the ash that fell over King’s Landing after it burnt. He headed south. 

Snow in the south was a strange sight, but it was nothing compared to the bitter winds that blew at Winterfell. He never experienced a cold deep in his bones like that. Brienne had kept it warm in her room…

The isle was relatively peaceful. Crew hands milled around the docks as Jaime departed the ferry from the mainland. The locals eyed him warily as he asked for directions to the nearest inn. He had left his gold hand behind at King’s Landing in the rubble of the Iron Throne, dropped it at Cersei's feet as her body caught flame. His beard had grown long and he tied his shirt sleeve to hide his missing hand. He had never even been to this island, and he hoped that would be enough to shield him from derision or outright hostility. 

Along the main road from the docks to the center of Tarth, the island rose and fell in soft hills. The harshest time of winter hadn’t hit, and some greenery remained on the trees and in the fields. Even as he walked inland, Jaime could still hear the roar of the sea and the crash of the waves along the shoreline miles away. He couldn’t help but imagine Brienne walking along these roads as a young person, practicing her swordsmanship or interacting with the locals. 

What had she been like here? She rarely discussed her childhood, but Jaime could guess some things. She was awkward but genuine, caring but guarded. Did she make small talk with her people or had she hidden away in the castle? Did she itch at her dresses or was she given the freedom to wear trousers? Did she prefer the open rolling fields or the rocky seashore? 

He found an inn close to Evenfall Hall, and thankfully the suspicious glares weren’t enough to prevent him from getting a room. He took a meal in the main room and listened to the gossip around him. Life wasn't back to normal yet, but the wars were over and devastation was being repaired. Folk thanked the Seven that the island was separated from the mainland, and most of their homes and farms were protected by the isolation.

The news from the capital focused on the dragon queen burning the city, and her death immediately after. Each of the tales grew taller as he heard them. Some said Daenerys fed Cersei to her dragon, some said Jon Snow chopped her head off and then burnt her body, some said she escaped across the Narrow Sea where she was raising another mercenary army. None of the tales mentioned Jaime, which he hadn’t expected. He was used to notoriety, not silence. 

Now that the dragon queen was dead and Jon Snow was a prisoner, there was no real government. It was a source of gossip rather than fear, as the Iron Throne and its occupant had done little for them in years.

Apparently, Lord Selwyn had died just before the attack on King’s Landing, his heart failed and he passed away in his sleep. The isle mourned, as he had been beloved by the people. A pang of regret lanced through Jaime. He didn’t know the man, and there was no reason for him to feel grief over the man’s death. Yet he knew Brienne was close with her father, and he wondered if she knew. 

The local quickly answered his unspoken question. A raven took the message to Winterfell weeks ago. Brienne was now the Lady of Tarth, the Evenstar, yet had not come to take her place. Jaime wondered if she actually would, or if she would stay with her Lady in the North. Her sense of honor ran deep, and he did not doubt she would take her oath seriously to remain by the Stark girl’s side.

Jaime listened and waited on the island. It seemed as good a place as any to settle for the moment. He spent days walking along the roads of the island, and evenings in the tavern. He hadn’t been so idle since his childhood but he didn’t feel restless. 

After a few days, he overheard a man lamenting about an empty home that earned no revenue, paid no rents, and had been left abandoned. Jaime gave him a false name and a handful of gold, and the man asked no further questions. He arranged for a girl to come clean and cook once a day, and Jaime became the new tenant. 

It was smaller than any of his quarters had been, including when he was just a brother in the White Tower. The size didn't bother him as much as it might have before. He had no need of a castle or an estate, for he had no one left to share it with. 

He crossed the small patch of land every day, getting used to the landscape. There were fewer trees and he was even further inland from the sea, but the rolling hills had rich soil for farmland. He could still hear the crash of the waves, and the sound calmed him. Casterly Rock overlooked the sea, and if Jaime closed his eyes he could have been back in his childhood home. 

Jaime hired men to help him work the land. He could hear Tywin rolling in his grave and Tyrion laughing at the thought of him becoming a farmer. Cersei would have disowned him, again. The pain of her loss waned each day, slowly but surely.

Just as his family came often to him, the spectre of Brienne was never far from his thoughts. She said she was tall and strong even as a child, and when he crossed the island he could almost see her with her straw blonde hair, big blue eyes, freckles dotted across her nose. He ached inside, wondered what she was doing at that moment. 

He spent days outside and nights alone in his small home. He witnessed Cersei's slow demise with drink, even after all of her abuses at the hands of her drunken husband, and so he abstained. The loneliness crept up at times, but he couldn’t bring himself to join life on Tarth. Not truly, not yet. 

After a few weeks, one of the laborers he employed mentioned news from town. The Maid of Tarth was returning. She was a war hero now, having fought in the War for the Dawn. Rumors arrived from Kings landing about how the realm would move forward after the collapse of the Iron Throne. The highest nobles left in the land were meeting and deciding the fate of the country, and the Lady of Tarth sent notice to Evenfall Hall that she would soon be in residence. Jaime smiled and nodded like he imagined the other smallfolk would, and yet his belly was tied up in knots. He tried not to think about it.

On the day of her arrival, Jaime spent a long time staring at himself in the looking glass. His beard was shot through with white and his hair was long and unkempt. The wrinkles around his eyes and forehead were deeper than he remembered. He bore some resemblance to the Kingslayer of before, he looked nothing like Cersei’s other half at all. He was an old man, one that had left everything he knew and loved to hide here on this tiny island. He turned away.

Jaime wanted nothing more than to go find Brienne when she arrived and kiss her. All he could think about was her sweet delighted smile when he surprised her in her chambers, and with her eyes closed blissed out after making love, and-- 

And weeping, “stay with me” as he rode away from Winterfell.

The last memory always reminded him what he was worth, and what he deserved. 

He made a decision: to go watch her landfall, but remain blended into the crowd. He would see her, make sure she was safe and hale, but she didn’t need to know he was there.

What a fool he was.

The first part of the plan went smoothly. He waited with the other townsfolk, wore his dark hood up and a long sleeve tied off, to watch her procession from the docks to Evenfall Hall. She had not been home in years, and excitement buzzed in the air as the people lined up to see her. The island guard kept the peace and lined the road as befitted the return of the Evenstar.

She rode a white horse, and even from a distance he would recognize her. Her blonde hair was slightly longer, though still short by most women's standards. Her posture straight, she rode through the town and nodded and smiled at some folk she still recognized. She wore unblemished white armor, befitting of a Lord Commander, and Jaime remembered wearing arms like that, once. Did this mean she was in the kingsguard and would stay in the capital?

Up closer, her eyes and mouth were lined almost as deeply as his own face. Grief shone through her blue eyes, red-rimmed and puffy. She rode dutifully, but not happily. A sword hung from her hip, one he did not recognize. It was plain and utilitarian, more her style than the ornate Oathkeeper. An unexpected pain ran through his belly at its absence. 

She rode past, and eventually the crowd dispersed. His eyes followed her form until she was out of sight. Jaime listened as the people around him talked about their new Lady, how manly she still was, how different and queer. The words were less harsh than Jaime had heard others speak of her. He quelled the urge to shout how wrong they were. 

\------ 

Jaime should not have expected anonymity. 

Brienne showed up at his new home within days. 

The knock on his door was authoritative, heavy. Jaime felt his gut twist, both hope and fear entwined together, and he knew instinctively who had come. 

He took a deep breath and steadied himself before he opened the door. Brienne’s face was impassive, silent, stoic. Much as she had been when Lady Catelyn entrusted her to bring him to King’s Landing, Brienne was hard. Her walls had risen and no jest or insult would make it past her defenses. This was the face that met the men who mocked her, the steely eyes and downturned lips that carried him from Riverrun to Harrenhal. So different from the softness that characterized their days together at Winterfell. 

She wore plain leather armor, the white ceremonial garb she from before nowhere to be seen, and a plain steel sword sat at her hip. Something inside him clenched and fell away. 

_This is your fault. Your words worked._ The thought pained him, but at least she was alive. The hope in him evaporated and self-loathing rushed in to fill the empty space like water filling a vessel. 

“Ser Jaime,” she said. 

Jaime swallowed but his mouth was dry. “Ser Brienne. Lady Commander? Do you have another title now?” 

She ignored his question. “What are you doing here?” Matter-of-fact, no-nonsense, no softness. Exasperation laced her voice, and that at least was familiar.

Jaime had tried to come up with an answer to that question, since he hadn’t entirely figured it out himself, but none came to mind. His mouth ran before his thoughts. “I came to see the sapphires.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The sapphires?”

Jaime winced. “The sapphires, if I recall, are the namesake of the isle. I thought they would be an important sight to see before I die."

That was the wrong answer. Brienne’s stoic mask melted into anger, her frown deepening and her brow lowering. “You came to my ancestral home to see the waters?” Her words were slow and measured, their deliberation frightening in their intensity.

His bravado faltered and he took a step back. “No, that’s not…” 

“It’s not.” She repeated, then paused. “You left Winterfell to come here, for the waters.” Sarcasm was not a tone he heard often from Brienne, and it set him on edge. “Is this where you’ve been the whole time? Hiding on the island?”

Jaime knew his role in the end of the war wasn’t public knowledge, but Brienne held a leadership position now. Surely someone would have told her. “Did no one tell you?”

Anger sparked in her blue, blue eyes. “Tell me what?”

That was unexpected, considering that honorable Jon Snow and his sizeable complement of Northmen found him at the foot of the Iron Throne. Jaime didn't expect Northmen, or a son of Ned Stark for that matter, would choose to keep his deeds a secret. What else had happened after he escaped?

The bottom of his stomach fell out. Jaime turned his back to Brienne, and maybe looking away would bring back his composure. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to think. Shit. He never had to tell people about his deeds himself, they were shared through songs and stories. The worst ones were, anyway. Now that he needed to share his own story and he wasn’t bleeding out in the bath with her, woozy with blood loss and shock and grief, he wasn’t sure how to do it. “I didn’t…” He inhaled and turned to face her. “I don’t…” 

The hurt on her face stung like a dagger in the belly. He could say nothing less than the truth. No more sarcasm or wordplay to hide his vulnerabilities.

“I went to King’s Landing to kill Cersei. And I did.” 

Brienne said nothing. Her eyes pierced into him, and he wondered what she saw. Jaime resisted the urge to shift and fidget like a child. He had been trained as a Kingsguard brother and vigilance had been drilled into him. Yet not even King Aerys’ abuses cracked him open like Brienne’s gaze as it honed in on him.

“You killed Cersei,” she said slowly, as if piecing together puzzle pieces. “You left me, told me you didn’t love me, said you were as hateful as she was, and went to murder her.”

A joyless laugh escaped him. “When you lay it out like that…” He hadn’t thought of it in those terms. It sounded much worse. 

A muscle in Brienne’s jaw jumped. “You can’t stay here. Leave Tarth immediately.” Her voice rang like the steel of her sword, the authority of her rank giving the order weight, and she turned to leave. 

“Brienne, please--” He took a step forward without thinking. He didn't know exactly what he was asking for. All he wanted was for her to stay. 

She paused, her posture tense and ready for battle. She waited in the doorway but didn't turn back to look at him. 

When she spoke, her voice was quiet and full of emotion. “I grieved, Jaime. You chose her, and you left me. I said goodbye. I… You can't just come here, of all places _here_ \--” Her voice broke and trailed off. 

“I didn't think you would want to see me at Winterfell.”

“So you came to my home?” She finally turned back to look at him, and her gaze was incredulous. “Rather than come to the place where we were happy together, you came here, to an island you’ve never seen. You know how ridiculous that sounds.”

When she said it out loud, it did sound ridiculous. "I have seen it before," he said before his brain caught up to his mouth. He shook his head and held out a hand to stay her response. 

Maybe Jaime wasn't consciously seeking her, but something inside him surely was. “I wanted to do something good with my life. I couldn’t stay at Winterfell and hide from the problems I unleashed on the realm. I left so that I could… redeem myself?” His inflection rose, like it was a question rather than a statement. “Leave one single thing in this world better than I found it? I don't know. I just knew that when Lady Sansa said Cersei was winning, I couldn't stay and do nothing. I had to act, and I had to keep you safe. You have always made me want to be a better person, and I thought that’s what I was doing. What I was being. 

“I can't say I am a better person. Now I am a queenslayer and kinslayer along with all my other lofty titles, but I know it was right.” Cersei’s bulging eyes and open mouth appeared in his mind's eye, her horrible death rictus imprinted for the rest of his life like a brand on his soul. Familiar prickling danced behind his eyes. He shook his head to rid himself of the image and the tears, and focused on Brienne.

“I said horrible things to you, and I am sorry. I didn’t lie, though. I am hateful and I am not a good man. I thought I was riding to my death. I thought that I would die with Cersei, because how can I live without her? For my whole life I’ve been nothing but an extension of her, a mirror image that loved her. She would have done anything to keep hold of her power, and I didn’t want you to get caught up in it. She would have killed me if she had thought it would help, and if you were there…” Jaime gritted his teeth. He felt no shame for his actions, but he regretted how they played out. He should have died with Cersei. "I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting her hands on you. I am sorry. I was trying to protect you, and all I did was hurt you.”

The rage on Brienne’s face softened, her fists loosened, and she studied him. He did not squirm under her gaze. 

“After, I didn’t know where else to go. I feel closer to you, here, without imposing my presence on you. I want your forgiveness but I don’t expect it. I wanted to do right by you, but once again I have failed. There's no reason you should want to be with someone like me. You have always and will always deserve better.”

Her silence lay like a thick fog in the room, and Jaime could hardly breathe. She gave a short, sharp nod. Her throat worked as she swallowed, and left the house with no other words.

\----- 

The next day, he received a summons to the castle.

Evenfall Hall sat on the highest hill of the island and Jaime imagined that from the tallest tower, one could see the mainland. The bay’s calm waters below glittered in the sunlight, and the nickname “Sapphire Isle” was an apt descriptor. The castle itself was relatively small, made of white-grey stone and a handful of squat round towers projecting strength and protection. 

Jaime was led in by the castle guard. He knew he still looked like a mess, but he had tried to fix himself up. No sleep left the bags under his eyes deep and dark. He had trimmed his beard the night before, though with one hand it was a challenge, and combed his hair. All of his clothes had been well worn and traded, the browns and blacks still not quite normal for him. Despite all these changes, every guard he passed stared at him inquisitively. His name must have traveled. He wondered if the name was Kingslayer or Queenslayer or Lannister. 

The guards brought him into the great hall where a throne carved of driftwood and decorated with shells sat on a dais at the far end of the room. The long wall facing the sea had four sets of double doors, all of which were thrown open, letting a chill into the empty room. Jaime raised one eyebrow at the nearest guard, and one of them tilted his head at the open doors. He headed outside.

Brienne stood on a balcony overlooking the bay. She did not lean onto the balustrade, but stood straight and tall. Her white armor, white-blond hair, and pale skin seemed to radiate light. Weak sunlight shimmered off of the water and reflected onto her face in profile, and Jaime felt the air leave his lungs. She was resplendent, rightfully in her element as a protector of the realm and a daughter of Tarth. She shone so brightly, all of the goodness inside of her bursting through the seams, and Jaime was, as always, undeserving of her light.

She spoke without turning to face him. “This is where my happiest memories are. I loved this place. I never thought about what it would be like without my father. Even if I wasn’t the daughter he deserved, he loved me.”

She turned to look at Jaime, where he stood in the open doorway. “You came here for me. I’m still not sure why.”

_Neither am I,_ he thought immediately, but stopped. That wasn't true. It was time for the truth, for explaining himself like he rarely did for any of his other choices. Brienne deserved that. “I don't know what life is like outside of my role as the Kingslayer and Cersei’s twin or the least important Lion of the Rock. I've worn my name like a badge of honor when people spat it at me. I don't regret my choices but… I don't know what it's like outside of that life. 

“Ever since I met you, I have wondered. Honor, and loyalty. Faith and justice and doing what is right, rather than what is expedient or what is expected by my family. You have that moral compass I’ve ignored, and you changed me.”

He held her gaze as best he could, but had to look away, out to the sea. “I want to be a better man. Maybe that's not possible after all the cruelty I've dealt, but. There has to be more. 

“You’ve been my guiding star since I met you. Whenever I had to make a decision, you were at the forefront of my thoughts. I didn’t always listen to what I thought you might say, but I thought of you. I can't imagine trying to live a better life anywhere without the thought of you. I didn't expect you to come back here, honestly, and if I had known…" Perhaps it was selfish to want to live in a place with reminders of her everywhere while she thought him dead. The self reflection business was bloody painful and Jaime did not like it. "If you intend to stay here as the Lady of Tarth, I will leave you in peace.”

Brienne was quiet. “When you left--” she stopped and cleared her throat. She gazed out at the water, equally unable to meet his eyes. “When you left, I thought it was just a game to you. Another trick, another bet to get Brienne the Beauty to give up… And you won.” Tears choked her voice. She took a deep breath, and her hands reached out to grip the balcony. 

“When I joined Renly’s Host, some of the younger knights made a bet for my maidenhead. They courted me and wrote me songs and treated me like a real woman. I thought … it was so nice to be courted. To be valued.” The wistful nostalgia in her voice hardened. “All of it was a lie. Their sweet words were nothing more than wind, and I almost fell for it. I smashed each of them to pieces at the melee before Renly gave me his rainbow cloak. Mockery and insults I knew and understood. Kindness is a threat. 

“You came to Winterfell, because of me. I knew it was a trap, but I couldn't help myself. You followed me. You knighted me. I tried to put up my shields again, I tried to keep myself safe, but you wouldn't let me.” Her voice grew thick and slow. He remembered how suspicious she had been, even after standing up for him in front of her leadership. He understood why, and he had still failed her. 

“I love you, Jaime. I knew it would hurt and end badly, and yet…” Jaime’s heart squeezed in his chest, a swell of emotion that roared in his ears louder than the waves below. 

“I thought you died with your sister in King’s Landing. The city was devastated, and everyone who didn't return was considered dead. You were listed as a casualty beneath the rubble of the Red Keep.”

The grief in her voice morphed into steely stoicism once again. “I have tried to move on. I left your memory behind. I left your sword behind. I wanted nothing to do with you, and yet here you are. At my home, where my father lived.” She finally turned to look at him again, and a fist closed around Jaime’s heart. Rage and pain, fear and hurt. “You're still following me, even now, even if you don't say it. How am I supposed to react? What am I supposed to do?”

Jaime's instinct was _be with me_. He bit his tongue, and spoke after the urge to beg passed. “Will you stay here, then?”

Brienne let out a heavy breath, and shifted to rest her hip against the balcony facing him. Her eyes were red with unshed tears, and her voice was tight with emotion. He swallowed and held her gaze. 

“Jaime, I saw you change. You made terrible decisions, yes, but you at least tried to do something better with your life. You killed the Mad King and saved all of King’s Landing. You came North to fight for the living when Cersei wanted you to stay and protect her. You saved me,” she said, and her voice broke. “You didn’t have to. You could have left me at Harrenhal, but you came back. You jumped in the bear pit, you stupid man.”

Despite the insult, authority threaded Brienne’s voice, and Jaime wanted to believe her. She kept talking through the swell of emotion. “You think you don’t deserve anything good in this world. You’re wrong.” She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. Her eyes filled with trepidation and uncertainty. “There was a council, about what comes next for the realm, and I was in King’s Landing. There is no more Kingsguard, but. Before I left, I wrote in the White Book. About you.” 

Her words were a punch in his gut, knocking the air out of him. He had thought about the White Book lately, when his thoughts raced and he wondered what could have been, what he could have written about himself. All he had left in his stilted handwriting was that he was captured in the Whispering Wood, and he failed to save Joffrey.

He was almost afraid to ask. “What… what did you write?”

She watched him for a long moment. “I wrote the truth. That you chose to do what was right when it mattered. I wrote that you killed Aerys to save King’s Landing. That you rode North to fight against the undead. You took Riverrun without bloodshed, to fulfill your oath to Catelyn Stark. That you saved me, that you helped save the Stark girls. In the end, you chose honor. Jaime, do you really think your life means nothing?”

Jaime couldn’t answer. Brienne’s eyes closed, as if she was in pain. “I wrote that you died protecting your queen, but you’re here and I guess that’s not true. It means more, now. Once again, you saved the realm, even when it was a difficult decision.

“Your life means something, Jaime. You are not hateful, at least not anymore. And, if nothing else, I think you deserve peace. If you want to spend the rest of your days here… I won’t stop you.” 

Jaime’s eyes fell to the ground. Her kindness warmed him from the inside out, her dedication to his good deeds was unexpected, and once again Jaime found himself at sea without an anchor. The rage and the blame he had anticipated. He was not ready for forgiveness. “What will you do?”

Brienne said nothing for a long moment. He finally looked up and met her eyes. “I am the protector of the Queen in the North. There is no more Iron Throne. The seven kingdoms are once again seven kingdoms. We are riding back to Winterfell, and I just stopped here to say goodbye to my father.” Her statements grew less solid and more thoughtful. “I swore an oath to Queen Sansa, yet I also have a duty here--” 

The words rushed out of him before she had finished speaking, a bubbling geyser of emotion that couldn’t be contained. “I want to be with you.” His words surprised her, and she froze with her mouth half open and eyebrows raised. “I want to be with you, Brienne,” he repeated. 

She closed her mouth, and the muscle in her jaw jumped before she spoke again. “Jaime, I…” Her resoluteness faltered, and he could see the girl within her readying for rejection. “I can’t do it again. I can’t watch you leave--” 

Jaime couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his lips. “Where would I go?” 

Brienne glared. “Don’t laugh at me.” Jaime dipped his head in a wordless apology.

“Truly,” he said, and took a step towards her. “I have no family left, save Tyrion. I am thought dead by the kingdom and I’m still the Kingslayer. You mean more to me than anyone in Westeros. Your belief in me is more precious than anything. You’re right, that I don’t think I deserve anything beyond death. I have wanted to die. The only thing I can think of that is more important than any of that is you. I want to be with you.” 

Brienne’s throat worked as she swallowed, and her eyes glittered as they searched his face. “Please don’t jest,” she whispered. 

He shook his head. “Not about this. I love you, Brienne, and I am sorry for the way I hurt you. I don’t deserve forgiveness--”

She grabbed the lapels of his coat and jerked him closer. “Stop saying you don’t deserve things. You do, Jaime. You--” 

He leaned up and kissed her, gripping one wrist with his hand and resting his right arm against her waist. She moved into him immediately, tilting her head to kiss him properly, and threw her arms around his shoulders. She was solid and strong and he melted into her embrace.

Jaime was transported back to their first kiss, the way she revealed herself to him and threw herself into passion. It felt like coming home, like this was where he was meant to be: in Brienne of Tarth’s arms, choosing life.


	3. Chapter 3

Evenfall Hall was charming. That was the only word Jaime could use to describe the place. It was moderately sized, not as large as some of the Great Houses but still respectable. The island’s best defense was its water barrier from the Strait of Tarth, so there was no need for thick walls and tall towers. Instead, the castle was incredibly permeable with large windows and open archways. Just as the castle was inviting and open, Lord Selwyn had been a jovial man who kept his ears open to the smallfolk. The white stone glimmered in the sunlight and every view overlooking the sea was spectacular. 

Brienne and Jaime strolled through the halls hand in hand, and he spent more of his time watching her than looking at any of the art or furniture or spaces that she pointed out. She was more relaxed here, more comfortable. She had said her happiest memories were in this place, and he wanted to know everything. 

Jaime felt… normal. Like he and Brienne were a normal couple spending time together. He realized he had never actually courted a woman, and the idea of courting her sent a flutter through his belly. Brienne had always run away from courting and romance, it had always been a tool used against her. Jaime spent his life running towards love, but one that was warped and twisted. What did it mean that they were here together, and what were they heading toward?

The way she talked about each room and shared memories of her family lifted his heart. She looked peaceful here. She had no shield up, no defense against vulnerability. Her eyes lit up and she talked with her whole body about her early training with Ser Goodwin, the castle’s Master at Arms. Her voice lowered and her eyes darted around the room when she whispered how she really felt about her Septa, and even if no one was around her fear of retribution was long-lasting.

Jaime knew she had never talked about these things before. This was new for both of them, and his heart was overfull. He wanted nothing more than to press her against every surface in the castle and kiss her until she gave him that slow open smile again. 

This is what he wanted. The idea surprised him. He had spent so long focusing on survival and the constant spectre of death. Long term planning or dreaming about what he wanted were never concepts he dealt with. And now, he found himself in a place where he wanted to be, where he wanted to live. He could picture spending every evening watching the sunset here, waking with Brienne in the Evenstar’s chamber, maybe even… children? His conscious mind shied away from the thought and he returned to listening to Brienne. If he was honest, half his mind was on her words and the other half watched her speak. 

One long hallway boasted fine tapestries of beautiful people frolicking at the seaside. Light shone from behind where the fabric brushed against the floor. Brienne’s gaze was fixed on one of them and she described how long it had been in her family and which was her favorite. He made a mental note of the ones she loved, and returned to the task at hand.

He pulled the edge of the tapestry away from the wall and found an alcove fitted with a window seat. He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face. 

Like she had an internal alarm for Jaime’s ideas, she narrowed her eyes. “Jaime, what--”

With deftness he forgot he had, he pulled Brienne into the alcove and let the tapestry flutter back into place behind them. It was a narrow squeeze, and her body pressed him into the wall, touching from knees to chest. 

“What are you doing?” Her voice was far too loud. He silenced her with a kiss. She pushed away, not moving far in the small space. Her nostrils flared in annoyance, but her eyes never left his lips. “This is my _home_ , what do you think--” 

“If this will be _our_ home, I think it needs breaking in, don’t you?” 

Brienne’s mouth dropped open and Jaime took the sweet opportunity to keep her occupied.

Thirty minutes later they continued their tour, Jaime’s hair tousled and Brienne’s lips kissed delightfully pink. 

A guard down the hallway dutifully stared straight ahead and said nothing as they passed. Brienne kept her head held high and acknowledged him with a nod. Jaime couldn’t help the grin that covered his face.

The last stop on their tour was the most impactful. The island didn’t hold a graveyard like other areas in the realm did, as the soil was too close to the sea. They entered through a wrought iron gate that fenced in the large space. Walking between tall caskets and statues, Brienne spent little time looking at the markers out here. She released his hand as they approached the mausoleum, a sacred space clearly meant for the ruling family and other people of importance. The same white stone that made up Evenfall Hall made this building as well, with carved columns holding up a pointed roof. A state of the stranger stood above the doorway, his familiar hooded figure holding a lantern lit with a small candle. 

Brienne took a fortifying breath and whispered a prayer, then walked forward into the darkened space. Jaime was no devout man, but he looked into the Stranger’s hooded face for a long moment and bowed his head before following. 

A long hallway led forward with alcoves on either side. Small braziers lit the dividers between each alcove, only giving off enough light to guide their steps. Jaime looked into the dim recesses and caskets lined the walls, some with carving he couldn’t read and others without.

Her voice, when she finally broke the silence, startled Jaime. She pointed out relatives of varying importance, her voice growing quieter as they continued through. 

"Ser Galladon of Morne," she said, pausing before a statue of a man wearing plate armor with a noble expression. "My brother was named for him. He was the perfect knight, and lived only to make the realm a better place. He was so perfect that the Maiden herself fell in love with him. She rewarded him with a sword, the Just Maid." She pointed to a replica in the statue’s hand. Her voice grew wistful, yearning. "He is everything I wanted to be." She trailed off, deep in thought as she studied the statue’s face. After a few moments, she kept moving forward through the dank hall. 

She stopped at one of the open rooms, and waited in the hallway looking in. She said nothing, but her tense shoulders and shallow breaths said enough. Jaime slipped his hand into hers, and she squeezed hard. Jaime clenched his teeth at the pressure, _gods she was strong_ , but squeezed back gently. 

The room held several caskets, and empty spaces remained for future interments. A small altar held a statue of the Mother, and small unlit candles surrounded her. Other trinkets also decorated the altar, as well as a vase of flowers at least three days old. 

Her voice cracked as she began to speak. “This is my family. My father, my mother. Galladon, Arianne, Alysanne.” The last three caskets were half the size of the other two, and Jaime’s heart clenched in his chest almost as tight as Brienne’s hand. 

“Do you remember them?”

He felt her nod sharply. She didn’t speak for long moments. “My mother…” she said, before trailing off and shaking her head. “Galladon was eight and I was four. He was everything I wanted to be, and everything a son should have been. Arianne and Alysanne were babes, not even out of their cradles. They--” her voice cracked, and her head fell. 

Jaime turned and pulled her into his arms. She cried into his neck, hot and wet and full of grief. They were not pretty tears as Cersei would have cried, but sobs that broke his heart. 

After she collected herself again, they stood with arms wrapped around each other. “I think my father would have liked you. After some time.”

Jaime let out a mock-offended breath. “Of course he would have loved me, I am charming.”

Brienne snorted and smiled through her puffy eyes and wet cheeks. “Try again with a straight face.” She gazed at her father’s resting place, and Jaime’s thoughts circled to his own father resting below Casterly Rock. 

"Can you tell me about him?" He asked gently.

She thought for a moment before answering. "My father was tall. I remember him towering over the other men on the isle. I was almost his height when I left to join Renly, but not quite. He was a just man and he ruled fairly. I learned what was right and wrong at his feet. 

“My mother died with Alysanne, and he was sad for a time. They were a love match, and her death broke his heart. I barely remember her but…” She exhaled in a shudder. “After that, Galladon died and everything was dark. 

“Eventually, my father recovered. He was very handsome, and always found women to share his bed. I remember women coming in and out of the castle. Not all of them were kind.” Jaime consciously relaxed his grip around Brienne, tensing to fight for her against ghosts. 

“He let me train when his advisors spoke against it. He saw how much I loved sword fighting and watching Ser Goodwin train the soldiers. The Maester said he should beat the stupidity out of me until I put on a dress and listened to my Septa. Father sent him away for a time and let me train. I think… I think he thought if he let me do this thing, if he let me train and fight and get it out of my system, eventually I would settle down and find a husband.

“He loved bards, and music filled the castle. Every folk singer or music troupe or performer who came here was feasted and celebrated. I loved listening to the tales, especially the ones about heroes and battles." Jaime imagined young Brienne sitting at the feet of some mediocre bard, eyes wide and enraptured. He smiled at the image.

She sighed, wistful. "I miss him. I hadn't seen him and… I don't know what he would have thought of me now."

Jaime shifted so he could look into her face, and waited until she met his gaze. "He would be proud, Brienne. The most proud. You are a hero, a savior of the realm. Even if no one knew of your deeds, you are the best knight in westeros. He trusted that you knew what you wanted, and let you do it. You are exactly the daughter he deserved, and better." 

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she smiled, though her eyes were far away. 

"Do you… want to pray?" Jaime felt uncomfortable even making the suggestion, but Brienne was religious. Even if he thought the Seven didn't give two shits about the world of men, this place was hers. 

"Would you mind?" She hesitated, tentative.

He shook his head. Jaime knelt before the altar to the Mother as Brienne lit a taper from the brazier in the hallway. She took her time, pausing between each candle, and eventually knelt beside him. The flowers drooped in the vase, and Brienne rearranged them, muttered something under her breath. She bowed her head, and Jaime did too.

\-----

They returned to the castle hand in hand. Jaime had lost the optimistic cheer from before, but the silence was somber and contented. Brienne led him to her chambers. 

The Lord of Evenfall Hall’s chambers were larger than he expected, warm and intimate. A small sitting area was laid out before the hearth, and a canopied four-poster bed actually looked large enough to fit Brienne comfortably. Winter flowers sat in vases on end tables, and large windows let in the weak sun. A portrait of a woman hung above the hearth, who had Brienne’s blue eyes and blonde hair, though she was thinner and more delicate. 

As they entered, Brienne moved to stand before the hearth and looked up at the portrait for a moment. "This is my mother," she said, voice barely audible.

"She's beautiful," he said. He wanted to say _like you_ , but Brienne didn't take compliments well. More likely she would think he was making fun of her. "What do you remember of her?"

"Not much. I was very young when she died. She was always kind, and loving. She had a delicate temperament. She sang the bard’s songs to me at night, and I remember her voice. She was a good mother."

She spent another long moment looking at the painting, a small smile on her face but sadness in her eyes. Her eyes dropped slowly, and took a deep breath before she turned to face him.

“I need to go to Storm’s End. Queen Sansa and Pod are there, waiting for me to return. Ser Pod,” she clarified, and Jaime smiled. 

“You knighted him?” 

A matching smile lit up Brienne’s face. “He deserves it. He fought admirably, and he has always served with honor.” 

Jaime walked towards her and stood at her side. “He learned from the best.” 

Brienne ducked her head, another pleased smile. Jaime’s heart swelled at how happy she looked here. “You’re a great teacher, Brienne. I’m sure you’ll be a great mother too.” The words slipped out before he could think about them, and he knew immediately it was a misstep.

She froze, a deer who has caught the scent of the hunter. “A mother?”

Jaime bit the inside of his cheek. “I just mean, you would be a great mother. Like your own. If you wanted to be. Not that you have to be.” None of that was what he wanted to say.

Brienne moved away, crossed the room to the dresser and an armor stand, and started to remove her armor. “I don’t want to be,” she said without looking at him.

Jaime followed her to help, but she shied away at his touch. It hurt more than he expected. “Are you sure? You might--”

“I’m sure, Jaime,” she bit out. It was harsh. She turned as her words sliced through the air. “I don’t want to be a mother, I don’t want to be a Lady, I don’t want any of it!” Her voice had risen, sharp and discordant in the quiet of the room. It quavered.

She turned away from him and unbuckled her epaulets with shaking fingers. 

Jaime moved forward slowly. “Can I help?” he whispered.

Brienne took a deep breath, and finally nodded. Jaime wanted nothing more than to linger and caress her skin as he undressed her, but it wasn’t the time. He moved as efficiently as he could with one hand, and her fingers avoided his as they worked together.

He broke the silence again. “What will you do?”

She sighed. “I’ll… return to Winterfell. I committed myself to the Queen, and I swore an oath.”

“Do you want to?”

“I swore an oath, Jaime.”

“That’s not the question I asked.”

She hesitated. He took the last piece of armor from her as she pulled on a tunic and trousers. She sat on a couch before the hearth, too small for her frame but the largest piece in the room, and rested her elbows on her knees. “I want… to fulfill my duty. I want to be worthy.”

“Worthy? Of what?” He set the last of the armor on the stand, and watched her from across the room. She picked at her fingernails, an unexpected and uncharacteristic show of nervousness, and her shoulders hunched where she bent over her knees. He rested his weight against the dresser and crossed his arms in front of him.

“Worthy of the title of Knight, of Commander. I can’t be here and in Winterfell simultaneously. I have to choose.”

“Maybe you do, but what makes you think you’re less than worthy of that title even if you leave Sansa’s service?”

She said nothing. 

Jaime wanted to laugh, but restrained himself. If nothing else, they deserved each other, that was for sure. “You know you’re the best knight in Westeros. No one comes close. Being a mother wouldn’t change that.”

Her head snapped up sharply as she glared at him. “I said I don’t want that.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

They stared at each other, a battle of wills. 

She broke first and leaned back into the couch, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t.” Her words were muffled. 

“You can’t?”

She sighed. “I don’t. Want that. It’s not me, it never has been. I’m not like that.” Her choppy words were strained and pulled from her like teeth. 

“Why not?” 

She glared at him again. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

He shrugged, as nonchalant as he could be. “I want kids.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but his answer startled her. Her mouth gaped open for a second, before she snapped it shut. “You do?”

He nodded. “I do. I want to be surrounded by a gaggle of children and a loving yet stern wife, maybe a horse. A title would be nice but.” He shrugged. “I have plenty of titles.” Kingslayer, Queenslayer, Kinslayer, Oathbreaker. He preferred just Jaime. 

She studied the floor, considering his words. “I didn’t know that.”

“We didn’t really talk about it at Winterfell. I thought death was around the corner. I didn’t really expect to live.” The future was something he never thought about with Cersei either. It was forbidden. Their future was always together, but secret and hidden. Even his children were not really his own. Now that the possibilities had opened up, now that he had a future beyond his the Kingsguard, things changed. 

Brienne’s blue eyes were still guarded, but at least she looked at him again. “But this is something you thought about? Children?”

“It is. The children I had… weren’t ever mine. I put it out of my mind for most of my life. Now that the future is open and everything is different, why not now?”

Confusion registered on her face, like Jaime just told her something completely new that she hadn’t ever thought of. 

“Can I sit with you?” he asked.

She nodded and shifted to make space beside her. The couch did not fit the both of them, so they sat pressed together from knee to hip to arms. He wanted to wrap his arm around her and pull her in, but she did not seem to want that closeness at the moment. 

“Do you know what I think?”

She rolled her eyes, a wan smile betraying her amusement, despite her strong feelings about this conversation. “I am sure you will tell me.”

He ignored her comment. “I think you want this. To be head of your house, to hold lands and do justice for your people, to--” he stopped. He swallowed his apprehension. “To get married and have babies.”

“I just said I didn’t.” the words were hard and definitive, but her voice wasn’t.

The thought about his words, not wanting to say the wrong thing and ruin this. He was crossing a bridge of ice, and if he misspoke he would fall and shatter this delicate thing between them. “I think you have rejected the idea of traditional womanhood for so long and you have convinced yourself you want no part in it. You were ridiculed for not matching expectations of what a woman was, and you didn’t let yourself want.” He paused. “I won’t say that motherhood is a thing all women want, because that isn’t true. But I think that _you_ want it, Brienne. I think many women, many people, want a family, want those who love them and will be there beside them.”

He turned as best he could on the small sofa to look into her face. She kept her gaze pointed outward, staring into the distance. “I want to be that family with you, Brienne. Even if you don’t want children, I think you want to settle down. You’ve fought for your whole life. Do you see yourself being Lady Commander for the rest of it?”

Brienne’s eyes had closed and tears streamed down her cheeks. He pulled her head to his chest and pressed a kiss to her hair. She folded, went willingly into his embrace.

“If you don’t want this, if you want to follow Sansa back to Winterfell and protect her for the rest of your days, I will go with you. Assuming Sansa doesn’t try to kill me.” Brienne let out a huff, presumably laughter. Jaime didn’t like his odds with the Queen in the North, but he would try for Brienne. He would try anything for her, to be with her. 

“I hadn’t… I thought I wouldn’t have children. The Kingsguard is a celibate order with no lands, no wives, nothing but the King. I committed myself to that. I did not recognize my children, I denied every part of me that ever wanted more.” Emotion choked him, and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I want that, now. With you.”

She turned her head to look into his eyes, and though they were filled with tears, there was love and hope shining through. “Are you sure?” she whispered.

“I am sure,” he said. His eyes flickered to her lips, and he leaned in to kiss her. She responded, though her lips were salty from the tears that rolled down her face.

"How do you know me so well?" she asked, voice almost a whisper.

"How do _you_ know _me_ so well?" he answered. 

She paused, and watched him for another moment. “You’re a good man, Jaime. I can’t… say that’s exactly what I want. Not now. But I do trust you.”

Jaime’s chest filled with warmth, and he stroked her cheek where his hand held her face. “I trust you too, Brienne. I love you.” 

She whispered “I love you” back, and they sat before the hearth together. 

\-----

The next day, they left for Storm’s End. Jaime had almost nothing left in his temporary home, but he returned to pay the landlord a sack of gold in thanks. The man almost fell over at the generosity. Jaime would never have thought about overpaying smallfolk before Brienne. 

Brienne explained the intricacies of the Seven Kingdoms agreement as they traveled. The Iron Throne had been melted to its root by Daenerys’ last dragon, and Jaime felt some measure of contentment at that. The seven kingdoms were once again independent, and all of the sovereigns had agreed to peace for the time being. 

“What of Casterly Rock?” he asked, nervous about the answer. Technically he was presumed dead, and theoretically he could become the King of the Rock. He wanted absolutely no part in this, but surely some minor lords would consider backing his claim for their own empowerment. 

“Your brother was given control over the Westerlands, but I do not know if he has become King. He mentioned trying a different style of government, but few of the others wanted to hear it.” 

That gave Jaime plenty of food for thought as they rode on. Between Brienne’s distracting nearness, his brother’s governmental experiment, and the anticipation of seeing Queen Sansa who hated him again, his thoughts raced far ahead. 

The guard at Storm’s End recognized Brienne’s authority and led them immediately and without question. However, their alacrity of response didn’t hide their resentment of the Lady Knight or their examination of Jaime. He held his head high, recalling the look of superiority that came easy to him in the past. It was more difficult, now. He had hidden behind his family name, his notorious deeds, his protection by the crown; he only had one of the three still.

The godswood sprawled across an acre of land, with a solitary weirwood tree nearest to the castle. The eerie red face sent a shiver up Jaime’s spine, and he tried to avoid meeting its penetrating gaze. Gendry and Sansa, or rather now the Storm King and the Queen in the North, spoke quietly below the weirwood’s blood red leaves. Ser Podrick stood a few yards away, and he noticed their presence first. The boy’s jaw dropped open and Jaime would have laughed if his belly hadn’t been twisted in nervous anticipation. 

“Ser Jaime!” Pod all but shouted, drawing the attention of the monarchs. His mouth snapped shut realizing his volume, but the damage had been done. 

Queen Sansa betrayed nothing at their approach, but Gendry’s lack of political training revealed his surprise. His eyebrows jumped and his mouth fell open. “Lannister?” 

Jaime gave a short bow. “At your service, Your Grace. Seems that tales of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

Sansa’s gaze was as cold as the ice from Winterfell, and she studied him for a long moment before returning it to Brienne. Brienne knelt dutifully at her feet. “Your Grace, Ser Jaime has been in seclusion on Tarth, and I found him unexpectedly there.”

“Thank you, Ser Brienne. Please stand.” Brienne did so. She nodded a greeting to Pod, who saluted and stood up straighter under her eyes. 

“Ser Jaime,” Sansa said, and ice pooled in Jaime’s belly. “You left Winterfell in a haste for King’s Landing. I had offered my protection to you, and you left like a thief in the middle of the night. Can you explain yourself?”

Jaime wrestled with how to answer the question. Surely her brother had told her of what he found on the Iron Throne. This felt like a test, and he felt the pressure to answer correctly. “Your Grace, I left because I could not risk anything getting in the way of what I had to do. I sincerely apologize for any slight against you or your protection, which was so gracious.” He sounded like a courtier again, and he hated it. 

He held her cold gaze. “I am sorry for the wrongs I’ve done to your family. I have been cruel and hateful. I like to think I have changed since then.” His eyes found Brienne’s without thinking. He took a deep breath, strengthened by Brienne’s supportive gaze, and looked back to Sansa. “I left Winterfell to go to King’s Landing. I went to kill my sister and end the war. And I did.

“I killed her as she sat on the Iron Throne commanding me to burn the whole city. Someone else took care of that part, but. I did it. Your brother found me there, and let me leave. I was surprised to learn that he told no one about my involvement.”

Gendry gasped audibly, but Sansa’s expression revealed nothing. “Not no one,” she said. “And how did you end up on Tarth?”

Again he glanced at Brienne. “I am done with the politics and intrigue of the Iron Throne. We’re better off without Aegon’s thousand swords. I wanted to escape, and live in seclusion. It didn’t last very long.”

“You wanted to hide from your crimes?” Her voice was not quite an accusation, but not absolution either. 

“I did not want to hide. I just don’t want to do that anymore.”

“So you could ignore everything your family has wrought.”

His left hand squeezed into a fist. “Yes, actually. Lannisters have done terrible things to the realm, and I wanted to redeem myself as much as I could. I imagine little can be done to redeem myself. I have to try.”

Jaime hesitated. “Your Grace, Queen Sansa. I have one thing that I hope can start to mend the wounds I’ve inflicted.” He started to unbuckle his scabbard from his belt. Brienne watched him struggle for a moment before she rolled her eyes and moved to help him.

“Jaime, what are you doing?” she whispered.

“I have to finish this.” Their combined efforts loosened the sword, and he knelt before Sansa. He held the sword out and rested the long end on his right forearm. “One of the many harms I have done to your family was done to your father. Tywin had Ice melted down and created two swords from it.” He glanced at Brienne, then returned to Sansa. “One, I believe, is still left at Winterfell. Oathkeeper was a promise. Widow’s Wail,” he lifted the sword, “is the reminder. I present this one to you, as it belongs to your family, and not mine. I never forgot what I promised your mother.” 

Sansa watched him, eyes bright and mouth pinched tight. Her gaze rested on the longsword, trailed over the gold hilt, the lion’s face with inset rubies. It was everything that Ice was not. She reached out to grasp the lion, and held on tight.

She released it and raised one hand to Pod. “Ser Podrick,” she ordered. He moved to her side. “Please take Widow’s Wail. It will return North with us.” Jaime lifted it to Pod and the boy took it. 

Jaime remained on his knees for another moment before standing. Sansa’s gaze had changed, but Jaime couldn’t describe exactly how. 

“I thank you for returning this sword to my family.” Her voice sounded warmer, like one shaft of thin sunlight in the bitter winter winds. 

"A Lannister pays his debts, Your Grace.” The words tumbled from his lips without effort, as they had so many times before, but it meant so much more here. He rose from his knees. “I can never ask for your forgiveness, but I hope that you will ignore me for as long as I don’t earn your justified wrath.” 

“If that is your wish, then so be it.” Her ice blue eyes returned to Brienne. “And you, Brienne?” 

Brienne’s shoulders straightened, and she knelt in the snow. “Your Grace, I have served you since your mother bade me protect you from the harms of this world. I have been faithful and dedicated. As you are now Queen in the North, with every man sworn to you, you have more protection than I can provide.” She hesitated. “I have never asked for what I wanted, only what was expected of me or what I should have wanted or what was best for other people. In this, I ask for something I want. I ask you release me from your Queensguard so I can take up my duty as the Evenstar.”

Sansa examined Brienne’s face for long moments, and Brienne’s confidence began to wane. She glanced at Jaime, and he got the impression she was thinking _really, this man?_ Sansa would never reveal her incredulity, however. She masked it well and looked back to Brienne.

Sansa folded her hands into her cloak. “Ser Brienne, Lady Commander of the Northern Guard, I release you from your vow. You have completed your duties and have protected me better than anyone ever has. It has been my honor to have you, and I will support you in any way I can. You always have my protection and my ear.” 

Brienne ducked her head, and when she looked back up at Sansa, tears filled her eyes. She stood, and Sansa reached one pale hand up to cup her cheek. “My mother would be so proud of you, Brienne. As am I.” Sansa smiled and as her thumb rubbed Brienne’s face, the tears fell.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

They both took a moment to compose themselves. Brienne wiped her face with her gloved hand, and Sansa cleared her throat. “So you intend to return to Tarth? With Ser Jaime?” 

“Yes, Your Grace. I had hoped…” She looked at him, and Jaime felt his heart swell. She didn’t say the words but he saw the love and devotion in her eyes.

“I want to marry you,” Jaime blurted out, once again his mouth running quicker than his mind. It was what he wanted to say, although maybe not in this moment. No one spoke for a moment. Brienne’s eyebrows shot up in shock, but there was no fear or trepidation. “Brienne, what we talked about before… I want that. I want to spend whatever days I have left with you. I want giant blonde babies with you. I want to make Evenfall Hall full of music and life and happiness again. If you’ll have me.” 

_I want to live._ The words echoed in his head, in a way he hadn’t consciously thought in years. Not since he lost his hand and Brienne called him craven, her words and presence enough to keep him from falling into his despair. Once again, she saved him. His heart had never been this full.

Brienne’s face softened and light glittered in her eyes. She bit her lower lip, as if to keep a wide grin from spreading over her face, and Jaime wanted nothing more than to loosen it and see her smile. 

“Well,” Sansa said. Jaime had not seen her smile since she was a girl in King’s Landing, sitting at Cersei’s knee when she was still under the illusions of courtly life. As an adult, her wide smile was breathtaking. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

“You could marry here,” Pod said. Everyone turned to him in surprise. “Under the heart tree.”

Jaime’s mouth went dry at the immediacy of the suggestion, and he watched Brienne. She hadn’t yet turned back from Pod, and her face moved like they were having a silent conversation. 

Now, it had to be now. Jaime dropped to one knee, and grasped Brienne’s hands in his own and rested the end of his arm on top. “Ser Brienne, Lady of Tarth, would you marry me?”

Brienne’s jaw clenched hard, and he could see it ripple under her skin. The war waged inside her head was clear; resist and shield herself for good or accept and be vulnerable, risk being hurt again, share her life with someone. Her nostrils flared, and she nodded, once. 

“If you want to cry, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” That got through to her, and as she smiled, a torrent of tears fell down her cheeks, no longer mournful or grief, but happy tears. Her smile was the sun peeking out from behind a bank of clouds, bright and warm and full of life. Jaime couldn’t help a matching smile on his own face. 

“Yes. Jaime, you ridiculous man, stand up.” She pulled him to his feet and into a kiss. “Jaime, you’re not alone anymore. It’s you and me, forever.” He brought his hand to her cheek, stroked the smooth skin and delighted in her nearness. 

As they embraced, the others made arrangements. Gendry called for the Septon of Storm’s End, and Sansa removed her white fur cloak to wrap around Brienne’s shoulders. “We may not have any of the proper trappings like a maiden’s cloak, but we can make do.” 

Anticipation buzzed in Jaime’s belly, and everything moved around him while he and Brienne stood still. He hardly noticed anything besides Brienne’s face, but after some time passed, suddenly the Septon stood before them and they were assembled for the ceremony.

Brienne clasped Jaime’s hand in hers, and he couldn’t look anywhere but in her eyes. Blue, blue blue, like sapphires, like the perfect sky, like the waters outside her home that drew Jaime in without conscious thought. Just like Brienne. Even as the septon read the vows and they each repeated them, Jaime lost track of everything around him. Much like the night he knighted her, everything in the world disappeared except for her face. He could look nowhere but in her eyes. 

“Feels like we’ve already done this,” he whispered. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Ser Brienne.” Her eyes lit with the memory that night, when she knelt before him and accepted his action. A muscle in her jaw jumped as she remembered, and her lips turned upward in a smile. The Long Night and the happy days after. 

The Septon cleared his throat and repeated his statement, and Jaime schooled his expression into dutiful concentration. Brienne couldn’t hide her choked laugh. 

“I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” Jaime felt the words deep in his soul, and somewhere inside things moved together to fit, like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Brienne said the words and everything felt right.

The septon pronounced them married. Before he had even finished speaking, Jaime lifted up on his toes and kissed her. His eagerness made Brienne laugh, and she kissed him back, one hand rising to touch his face gently. 

When they parted, Brienne’s face had never been so radiant. 

“Ser Brienne, what would you have of me?” he whispered, faces so close he could feel her breath still.

“Jaime, my love, let’s go home.” 


End file.
